


Winter Wrap Up

by oldtimeyryan



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cuddling, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Power Outage, slightly OOC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2012-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-21 08:57:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/595873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldtimeyryan/pseuds/oldtimeyryan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Its winter in England, so its snowing. Predictable. What isn't? Being snowed into your flat and then, low and behold, the heat turning off. Charming, isn't it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter Wrap Up

**Author's Note:**

> So hello again! This came from a prompt from my lovely friend, Rosa, whose prompt was: 'Sherlock and John are snowed into 221B and cuddling ensue.' I hope this is what you wanted, my love!
> 
> Beta'd and brit-picked. I hope you enjoy!

“Shit,” John said, moving away from the window. “Shit, shit, shit, shit.” _Repeated the word three more times than necessary, something had gotten on John’s nerves._

“What is it?” Sherlock drawled from the couch, turning his head to look at his flatmate. He looked positively annoyed- _due to what his explicates were most likely about_ , his eyes had slight bags beneath them- _nightmares again, must fix that_ , and his jumper was two days old- s _tressed, about what? Needs further analysis._ John sighed, running his fingers through his hair and looked out the window again.

“We’re snowed in,” John didn’t face him, but Sherlock could tell that was what annoyed him. What was so bad about being snowed into the flat? Was John looking for better company then Sherlock again? “Bloody hell, we’re nearly out of groceries, and this looks pretty bad.” _Ah._

“Boring,” Sherlock slumped back down, his curls falling waywardly across his forehead. John scoffed and moved over to his armchair, still eyeing Sherlock.

“We’re stuck in here, Sherlock, which means no going to Molly for body parts and no cases,”

“I realize that, John,” Sherlock said, rolling over to face him again. “I have other means to cure my boredom.”

“Like?”

“Talking,”

“Is this the apocalypse? Sherlock, you never want to talk about anything unless it involves my intelligence or a case.”

“Well, I can use neither of those now, so talking about ourselves is the only option,” Sherlock said, his voice painfully exasperated.

“You already know my whole life, what’s the point?”

“There are things you do not yet know about me, correct?” John nodded, and fell into his own armchair. “Then this is the opportune time to ask me.”

“Sherlock…” John hesitated, before rubbing his face. “Fine. Why do you keep me around?”

“Easy. I needed a colleague, and you became that and then my friend, my best friend,” Sherlock crossed his arms, watching as John’s face lit up. Sherlock’s insides warmed up, happy that he had actually said something right. “I enjoy your company, John, your constant praise and the way you work around me and my… Well, gift.” His voice was dry when he said that, knowing that what he did was no gift; it could have been a curse, making him intelligent above all others yet making him lack basic social skills. Mummy once took him to a psychiatrist who diagnosed him with Asperger’s Syndrome. Father said that was a load of bollocks and the Holmes’ never spoke of it again.

“Well, you’re my best friend too, Sherlock, so I kind of have to put up with you,” John joked, his irritation slowly fading. “Alright, uh, you ask.” Sherlock smiled at him, his eyes flickering over John’s form, reading him.

“You often express your distaste in my attitude, so what do you actually enjoy about me?”

“Jesus, Sherlock, what a question,” John laughed, well, giggled before he answered. “The way you ignore insults, that’s pretty amazing, and how you can solve cold cases in less than a month. You’re… Very fascinating.” Sherlock glowed from John’s confession, and he smiled almost shyly at his flatmate. The warm in his face was something John didn’t get to see very often, and it made him quite happy. The questions ranged from ‘when was your first kiss?’ or ‘are you _actually_ a virgin?’ to ‘who is your favourite musical artist?’ or ‘was there anything you wanted to do besides what you do now?’ The two men laughed, hesitated and joked with each other, much like a normal night besides the fact that there was a blizzard going on outside and their heat was about to turn off.

“Jesus, Sherlock what did you do now?” John yelled a few hours after their questions started. It was half ten, and the power had just switched off. Sherlock’s head popped in from the hall.

“That wasn’t me, John.” Sherlock said, walking him, his breath slowly starting to become visible. “I’ll, uh, get rugs?”

“Good idea,” John said, starting to shiver. “Brilliant, just bloody brilliant. It’s fucking freezing and there is a snowstorm going on and we have no power!”

“Don’t blame me!” was the reply he got. John rubbed his arms, his mood falling again. Sherlock came back into the sitting room with an armful of blankets. Sherlock threw some at him and then himself onto the couch, where he curled beneath the ones he had. He was still shivering as he watched the snowfall outside, almost like a thick, white curtain. As beautiful as it was, it was a huge inconvenience at this time. John made a cocoon out of his blankets and sighed.

“Wonderful,” he groaned. “What’s the bet we’re the only ones in London affected right now?”

“Unlikely,” Sherlock replied. “This is a big storm; at least 60% of London would be affected.”

“Always the optimistic,”

“I try,” Both men went silent, John closing his eyes and trying to focus on keeping warm while Sherlock just looked at him, still feeling the warmth from their earlier confessions. There was still one thing left to be said, but that could wait. Not important. It would be a secret he could keep until his death. But nonetheless… “John.”

“Mm?”

“Come over here. Combined body heat should keep us warmer for longer.” Sherlock leaned back on the lounge, watching the decision play out in John’s ever-open features. He seemed to make up his mind as he bundled up the blankets above his feet and waddled over to the lounge. To watch John waddle was humorous, to say the least, but Sherlock kept a specially crafted straight face. His flatmate’s weight fell against the couch and John twisted around into a position that seemed to be comfortable for him. Sherlock, as he was doing this, had lifted his blankets and now pulled them over John and snaked an arm around his waist. John went willingly into his side without hesitation, which caused alarm bells to ring inside Sherlock’s head. John spread out his blankets across himself and Sherlock and he tucked his legs close to his chest, his right knee brushing Sherlock’s side. His hands pulled the blankets up again and once he was satisfied, he leaned his head against Sherlock’s shoulder and stopped shivering a few moments afterwards.

“So it does,” he remarked after many minutes of silence. Sherlock’s heart was annoyingly racing at John’s slight, practically intimate contact, and the fact that John had not removed his arm from his waist. The embrace was awkward but it was comfortable and warm. “Sherlock?”

“Yes?”

“This wasn’t your idea of trying to cuddle on the couch, was it?” John’s voice wasn’t cold or brittle, but filled with laughter. Sherlock twisted his head to look at him, and almost had a shock at how close John’s face was to his own. His eyes were deep, the blue like an ocean, beckoning him and Sherlock found himself wishing he could just stare into those eyes for eternity. Of course, eternity would be impossible, but it was a figure of speech. His features were open, slack, trusting, and his lips were smiling, a light pink that contrasted beautifully with his fading Afghan tan.

“Of course not.” Sherlock eventually answered, his tone not as collected as he would have hoped. John chuckled, a movement that Sherlock heard and felt. John’s body was vibrating slightly beneath his arm and his head was shaking a little.

“For a genius, you’re clueless.”

“As you so constantly love to inform me.” John smiled, and one of his hands touched Sherlock’s free one. Sherlock went still, almost unable to hold John’s eyes. John smiled wider at this reaction, and his thumb stroked the back of Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock definitely didn’t feel cold now. He felt like his skin was a furnace, burning at 68.7°C, hotter than their own fire. John chuckled again, but didn’t comment. Sherlock closed his eyes, and parted, trying to centre himself but it was no use, seeing as John kissed him at that very moment. It was soft, a question that had longed to be asked. Sherlock answered with enthusiasm, but not too much that would make the kiss turn into mauling or anything inappropriate. John moved his fingers through Sherlock’s and intertwined them, his control of the kiss never wavering. Sherlock was glad to let him control it, just this once. Which meant there would be more kissing. _Oh, yes, thank you._ The kiss didn’t proceed from the movement of lips, no tongue or teeth or biting. It was a beautiful first kiss, and Sherlock didn’t find many things beautiful. When John pulled away, Sherlock opened his eyes very slowly.

“You’re straight.” was the first thing he remarked. John burst out into a fit of giggles, which soon had Sherlock joining in. John’s hand was tight around his own and his whole body was vibrating now.

“Sherlock, you don’t say that after a kiss!” John wheezed once the giggles had subsided.

“But it’s the truth.”

“Sherlock,” John said, suddenly serious. “These feelings… I’ve had them for a while, honestly. At first, it scared me, but I don’t care if you’re a man. All I care about is what is on the inside, your brilliance, and your ability to care in obscure ways… You are a beautiful man, Sherlock. I’ve seen the way people at look you, men and women alike—“

“With distaste,” Sherlock interrupted, and went to say more but John pressed his lips to his again, the beginnings of a smile at the corners of his mouth.

“You’re an arse, we’ve established that, but a beautiful one. Once people get over your, ah, attitude, they stare at you like you’re a Greek god or something like that. You do captivate people, Sherlock.”

“Hardly,” Sherlock murmured. “I hardly think my face deserves the attention you say I get. At least yours is normal, and plain and I could watch it all day. You’re so expressive, John, it is breath-taking.”

“Did you just admit that I am attractive?” John was smiling again, his eyes glowing with happiness.

“Of course I did. I was simply stating the truth.” That earned him another kiss, and another, and another. Sherlock was kissed until his lungs screamed for air and his mind seemed to have gone into lockdown.

“I have wanted to do that for a long time…” John murmured against his lips. Sherlock definitely agreed. “And I would very much like to keep doing it…” Sherlock sought out his lips again and the kisses became headier and deeper, now beginning to involve tongue. They continued to do this long after the heat had come back on and the storm had passed. Only goes to show that Mother Nature has a few tricks up her sleeve when it comes to sexual tension.


End file.
